Page 28 of Beautiful Desire
Setting clear boundaries was definitely the way to go. Now, if only I could get my mind and body on the same page and stick with the boundaries, that’d be great.
13
Fletcher
“Why are your legs so dang wobbly?”
Georgia giggles, bubbly and melodious, and if I wasn’t fighting for my damn life to stay upright and not make a fool of myself, I’d relish the sound of it. But I am, so instead, I’m grinding my back molars and silently hoping she trips over her own feet and falls on her ass, while also praying to the universe that I don’t do the same. A disgruntled huff slips past my lips as I slice my gaze over to my stepsister, who looks fuckingelatedby my struggle.
“You look like a freaking baby giraffe, oh my gosh.” She bursts into another fit of laughter before even getting the words out, eyes wet and crinkled as she watches me with amusement. “What are you doing? Stand up straight.”
“I’m fucking trying,” I grit out as my legs quake with a heavy effort to avoid an ass-to-concrete collision.
She snorts. “Fletcher, why are you so bad at this? You act like you’ve never done this before.”
Looking over at her, I scowl. “Maybe because I haven’t.”
Blinking at me for a moment, another uproar of laughter flies out of her. She’s practically wheezing, and it’s causing everybody to stare as they pass by. “What do you mean you’ve never done this before?”
“It means exactly that; I’ve never fucking done this, okay?” I growl. “Pretty self-explanatory. Now, will you shut up and help me already?”
Wiping a tear from under her eye, humor curls Georgia’s lips as she holds my gaze. It takes a few moments, but she eventually pulls herself together and, in a gentle tone, says, “You need to focus on your balance.”Easy for her to say as she stands in front of me, with her legs steady as a surgeon’s hand holding a scalpel, like it requires zero effort or thought.“Lean slightly forward and keep your knees bent.” She continues, making a show of doing it herself. “You need to be able to equally distribute your weight between each foot.” Pausing while I get into the right position, she offers me a small smile and a nod. “Good. Now try walking. Don’t worry about the skating so much yet; just get used to moving with the skates on.”
The vein in my neck throbs and sweat beads across my forehead as I lift my left foot and place it down in front of my right. Then I keep doing it, my legs still wobbly, but not as bad as before. The feeling of being watched by everybody around us has the hair on the back of my neck standing up.What was I thinking, asking to join her?
Oh, right, because I can’t seem to get enough of being around her. And after the other night, when we put labels on all those candles, I want to be around her even more.
After taking several steps without falling and breaking my ass, I glance over at her. “Now what? I look like a toddler.”
Georgia giggles, then a little more when my eyes narrow. “Try gliding,” she suggests, doing it too, to show me again. Except she’s glidingbackward, which somehow makes the situationmore humiliating for me. “Start slow. Angle your skates in a slight V, and remember what I told you—keep your knees bent, lean slightly forward, and shift your weight from side to side.”
Doing what she says, I make it about five seconds before my leg shoots out from under me, Georgia gasping as I lose my balance and fall back. A garbled sound flies out of me as my back meets the concrete, and it knocks the wind right out of my lungs. Squeezing my eyes shut, a moan vibrates in my throat as I lie here, in the middle of the sidewalk, unable to move for a minute. Pain radiates through my body, and I already know I’m going to be sore later.
“Probably should’ve worn a helmet,” she says, offering me a hand.
Huffing a breath, I squint up at her.Should’ve worn sunglasses too.“Didn’t exactly think I’d need one.”
Despite the glint of humor in her eye, Georgia doesn’t laugh or gloat, or really say anything as I get back on my feet and try again. I appreciate her for it, because my ego feels more bruised than my ass right now. After years of listening to my father preach about how we need to always be the very best at everything, I’ve learned how much I don’t love trying new things. Mostly because I hate not being good at whatever I do. It takes a while, but eventually, I’m gliding alongside Georgia on the sidewalk, feeling a little more confident with each successful stride.
“How have you gone your whole life without learning how to do this?” she asks after we’ve been skating about a block.
I take her in for a moment—the oversized white sweatshirt and black biker shorts she’s wearing, the braid in her hair and how it sits over her shoulder, the loose strands framing her face, and how relaxed and comfortable she seems. Meanwhile, it’s taking every last bit of effort I have to not lose my balance and eat shit again.
Looking ahead, I shrug. “Wasn’t something my dad ever taught me, nor did I have the desire to learn.”
“Well, that’s kind of sad,” she murmurs.
“Why?” I ask, brows pinched as I glance over at her.
Georgia skates in front of me, letting a group of people walk past us, and it’s gravitational, the way my eyes slide down her backside, to her fat, juicy ass sitting right below her sweatshirt. My mouth waters with each stride she takes because the black shorts are tight enough that I can see every delicious dimple in her cheeks, and the utter lack of any sort of panty line, which leaves me wondering if she’s wearing any at all.
My body heats, and it has nothing to do with the sun beating down on us and everything to do with my stepsister in front of me. She’s so effortlessly sexy, and the more time I spend around her, the more I’m drawn to her. It’s like in the short time we’ve been living together, my teenage crush has multiplied tenfold, and her insisting that nothing more is going to happen between us does nothing but intensify the flame burning inside me.
“It just is,” she says, coming beside me again once everyone passes, reminding me of the conversation we were having a moment ago before my mind went straight into the gutter. “I’ve got so many fun memories rollerblading around town with the neighbor kids when I was younger. Our parents would load up our backpacks with lunch and a water bottle, and we wouldn’t go home until the streetlights came on. I don’t know...” She shrugs. “I just can’t imagine not having that experience; it seems like such a staple for kids around here, so it’s sad to me that your dad never took the time to teach you.”
“It’s not like I was deprived of fun as a kid or anything,” I say. “I played sports and hung out with my friends.”
“Football, right?” she asks.
